


Monks

by universalgleam



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Brief Smut, Lots of Angst, M/M, Possessive Behavior, is obi-wan OOC? probably, pain and suffering, shitty metaphors, sort of dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 22:02:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6584335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/universalgleam/pseuds/universalgleam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Anakin is needy, Obi-Wan is sad, and happy endings don't exist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Monks

When Anakin was very young – perhaps five or six – he had become briefly enamored with local mythology. Maybe it was childhood gossip, maybe the way he snuck around the fringes of Mos Espa and beyond, but he craved to know the stories of Tatooine. Naturally, he asked the smartest person he knew.

His mother shared many stories with Anakin, but one in particular remained in the forefront of his mind.

The B’omarr monks, Shmi told him, hated nothing more than distraction. They cut themselves off from civilization, and eventually, the practice of “shedding” began – in which monks were rid of their bodies, their brains preserved in a nutrient solution, placed in jars and left to meditate for eternity.

(Further, the mechanical arachnids that scuttled around the Bantha Plains and the Great Mesra – on the outskirts of Jabba’s Palace, which had once been a temple occupied by the monks – were said to carry these brains, if and when they wished to become mobile.)

A campfire tale, perhaps – simply something to scare him a bit before bedtime.

Regardless, Anakin does not forget the B’omarr.

☼ ☼

_I. beautiful stars in the sky_

Despite his routine persistence otherwise, Anakin _does_ know he’s not the center of the universe. He can’t be, not when stars shine over the planet like this, even as he lies bleeding.

_It’s just an adrenaline rush from the impact. You’re not thinking straight._

He smiles just slightly; wishes Obi-Wan was here to see the beautiful stars with him.

They see each other again approximately five hours later; Obi-Wan is being treated for two broken ankles, and Anakin has been certified “delirious” by the med-droid. It certainly doesn’t help his case when he tries to crawl into the tiny cot alongside his former Master.

“ _Anakin._ ”

“Yes, _Master_?”

“I suggest you return to your cot before anyone else walks in and sees… _this._ ” He gestures with a nod to where Anakin has clasped their hands together.

“I’ll just tell ‘em it’s the pain meds… I’m _delirious_ , remember?”

Truth be told, the medication _is_ making him a bit lightheaded – like he’s had a bit too much wine to drink. He feels weightless; laughs a bit, turns on his side, nuzzles his nose into the older man’s neck –

“ _No,_ Anakin.”

Anakin knows, past the delirium, that were he not injured, Obi-Wan would be pushing him onto the floor by now. He huffs dejectedly and extricates himself from the cot.

Once he’s situated across the room, he hears Obi-Wan sigh. “Try to get some sleep, won’t you?”

He doesn’t respond; just stares at the wall until his eyes will shut on their own.

(And if Anakin mumbles “I just _love_ you” as he falls asleep, Obi-Wan never mentions it.)

☼ ☼

_II. clean chakra good karma_

It’s nice that they’re both on-planet, Anakin thinks idly as he prepares a late lunch. He and Obi-Wan are together quite often in combat, but that is different, different in a thousand ways. Never relaxed, excepting maybe some moments in the tent after martial victories – but even then their jaws are locked, knowing it’s only a matter of time before the next battle, and the next, and the next. War never changes.

Here, though; here he feels less anxious, maybe not fully, what with the Council breathing down his neck – but Padmé is only a quick speeder ride away, and his Master… when he’s here too, he’s within _walking_ distance. To Anakin’s astonishment, Obi-Wan had gladly taken him up on his invitation to meet for a meal, maybe some drinks – at Anakin’s quarters, of course.

_Really, could he be any more dense? For such an intelligent Jedi, he’s quite…_

Anakin never has the chance to finish his thought; someone is at the door. Obi-Wan, of course. He can feel their bond through the door, even, thrumming pleasantly. The older man smiles as Anakin lets him in.

“Hello, young one.”

“You know you don’t _always_ have to call me that, right?”

“Of course. But it’s been at least a day since I put you in your place, you’re long overdue.”

 _Put me in my place… Force, I wish he_ would. “Whatever you say, _old man_.”

He takes great pleasure in Obi-Wan rolling his eyes; that means he’s listening.

They chat cordially while they eat; Obi-Wan seems pleasantly surprised at the quality of the meal.

Finally, much to Anakin’s delight, he gladly takes a glass of wine when offered – and a second, and a third, and a fourth, until they’re both sprawled on the couch, Obi-Wan actually _laughing_ as he recounts old stories, mostly tales of drinking, nights out with Master Vos, with Bail, a few with Qui-Gon – and, shockingly, even one with Master _Windu_.

“He… was _so_ drunk, he turned to this _complete_ stranger… started boasting to him about how he invented his own lightsaber form… poor fellow had no clue what he was going on about!”

Anakin is marginally more sober than his former Master, but even he has to laugh at the story. They’re situated comfortably, the younger man leaning slightly against Obi-Wan’s shoulder, trying not to shiver at the proximity.

Their conversation tapers off naturally, the air full of unspoken questions, unvoiced doubts.

 _Fuck it,_ Anakin thinks, _that’s enough talking for one evening._

Against his better judgment, against everything he’s been taught (and ignored), head buzzing, he leans in to kiss Obi-Wan.

Their lips barely make contact before the older man, startled, shoves Anakin backwards.

“Excuse me, Anakin, but what _are_ you d–”

“Master, I–”

“I fear I don’t even want to know what you have to say.” Obi-Wan leans back against the sofa, cradling his forehead in the palm of his hand – his hangover seems to be setting in quite earlier than he had expected. “You know we cannot follow… _that_ path.”

Anakin closes his eyes, breathes deep, gulps a few times – “I… _want_ you.”

“No, you don’t.” He speaks so assuredly, as if he can see inside Anakin’s mind.

“I’m afraid I _do._ And I can’t– I’ve tried to get rid of it. Honest. Ever since I was still a Padawan, I’ve – tried not to let it affect anything. Between us or outside. I just – I can’t _lie_ anymore!”

Obi-Wan turns away slightly. When he speaks, he sounds devastated. “It would not be right. You know this.”

“But you want me, too.”

Silence.

“You do.”

Obi-Wan frowns, opening his eyes to look at his – well, what are they, exactly, to each other? Ever since the war began, it’s all been so muddled, and even the Master can no longer tell when his feelings have crossed a line, when camaraderie becomes comfort, when brotherhood becomes _love._ “…I will not betray the Order, Anakin. Jedi care not for _wants_. For… desires. There is no emotion, there is–”

“ _Shut up!_ ”

Anakin stands abruptly, going quickly to the window, then pacing back, and again and again, his arms crossed over his chest.

“You’re like– like a B’omarr monk or something, you’re so–”

“I beg your pardon?”

“B’omarr monks – on Tatooine, they were–”

“I know _of_ them, Anakin. I just fail to see how you can compare me–”

The younger man stops pacing now, spinning to glare at Obi-Wan. “The B’omarr were fools. They shed their bodies thinking it could make them stronger, but it only left them vulnerable. Tried to leave everything behind in pursuit of _knowledge –_ it’s _pathetic,_ what is knowledge when you’re nothing but a brain on a shelf?”

Obi-Wan remains still, stunned, confused. “I–”

“Would you let me _finish_? You’re just like them. You think– you think you can get rid of everything that’s… ‘unbecoming’ of a Jedi, of a _monk,_ like you’re not as _human_ as anyone else. Like you can shed your desires, a brain on a shelf, but you’d be – you’d be no better than _dead_ to anyone who cares about you, who– who– well…” He pauses, taking in a breath and shaking his head slightly. “Master, I know you better than anyone. I won’t let you hide away everything that makes you who you are. Jedi or not, we are _men,_ we are human, we deserve–”

He cuts himself off when it becomes clear that Obi-Wan has stopped protesting.

The auburn-haired man sits curled on himself, shoulders moving up and down slightly – as if he were trying to cry.

As if he _couldn’t._

Anakin is quick to reclaim his seat, pulling his Master against him, holding him as tightly as he can.

“Master, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean– don’t ever wanna hurt you, I… _love_ you!”

The silence that follows is deafening.

Finally, quietly, Obi-Wan chokes out two words.

“I _know_.”

Swiftly, his head is pulled up – Anakin’s hands are on his neck, and his waist, and beneath his tunic _already_ and their lips are together and it hurts more than it should to part when both men need to breathe.

Obi-Wan looks away, unable to meet Anakin’s eyes (even with that smooth left hand steadily rubbing circles on the skin of his back). “You’re right, you know. About me.”

Anakin smirks. “Am I?”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

They kiss again, then; within minutes Anakin is face-down on the floor, two fingers spreading him open. He cries, staining his undertunic and the carpet in tears; of relief, joy, fear, arousal, he does not know.

Obi-Wan leaves bruises on his hips, fucking him brutally, embracing him as he cries out to the sky and the stars and everyone who will try to keep them apart.

Darkness swirls around them both as Obi-Wan marks his former apprentice, drawing blood near his shoulder blade.

They both retire to Anakin’s bed, the older man curling around him from behind, whispering in his ear how he is safe, he is accepted, he is _loved._ Anakin falls asleep smiling.

Before dawn has broken, Obi-Wan wakes with a start. The bed is suddenly uncomfortable, his limbs sore, his neck sweaty; he spends sunrise on the balcony, watching starships as they dock and depart.

This is the second-closest he’s ever come to the Dark Side, he knows, he _feels._ It has been more than a decade, now, but only the pain and horror of his own Master’s death can compare to the turmoil he feels now.

Obi-Wan has made a decision he will never be able to take back. He fears it will destroy them both.

Again, his shoulders shake; but still, he cannot cry.

☼ ☼

_III. we’re in the clouds_

Sometimes, when it’s foggy enough outside, the clouds wrap themselves around the towers of Coruscant, bathing the higher levels in a sickly grey glow. When this happens, Anakin always drags himself over to Obi-Wan’s quarters; he can’t stand the feeling of being trapped.

(Obi-Wan doesn’t have much say in the matter.)

He’s gotten used to making up elaborate lies for the Council, still scolding Anakin whenever he can, but doing his best to dissuade any punishment the boy might receive for his actions.

The attachment, he knows now, had been present even years ago, when Anakin was still his Padawan.

Now, though, something far worse has taken its place. A feeling almost like _obsession._

(The Dark Side calls to them both in different ways; Obi-Wan indulges it in the passion he feels towards his… other half, while Anakin seems to embrace bloodlust in the battles they fight, destroying anything he can with reckless abandon.)

Obi-Wan feels ashamed of the fact, but he has to acknowledge the positives of the _possession_ he now holds over the boy. He knows his thoughts like his own, knows his stormy moods before they hit. He knows when to give him space to think, to breathe – and, astonishingly, Anakin does the same for him.

(Most critically, he knows to keep him away from the Chancellor, who has, it’s become apparent, put nothing but pleasant lies into Anakin’s mind for the last twelve years. Obi-Wan can’t help but feel a flare of rage every time he shakes Palpatine’s hand with a neutral smile. He knows there is _something_ wrong with the man, but he can’t quite place it; regardless, he knows, no matter what, that Anakin cannot be allowed in his company.)

Anakin has no complaints. Though they are equals in daily life, he submits himself willingly, _eagerly,_ through their bond and when they are alone. He seems to want nothing more than to be taken care of. (It terrifies Obi-Wan.)

But with love, and lust, and obsession, and _passion_ ruling him, Obi-Wan will do nothing to stop any of it. He can’t, not now, after all they’ve been through. He will handle Anakin as roughly as the blue-eyed boy will let him, and kiss him until their mouths are bruised, fuck him till he cries – anything he desires. Anything he _needs._

(Obi-Wan knows now he is no monk.)

Today, though, with the clouds leaking gloom through any glass they find, all Anakin wants is to be held. He pillows his head on his Master’s chest; they fall asleep in a tangle on the floor in the hallway, eyes closed, unable to see what tragedy and heartbreak surely lie ahead.

The Dark Side will let them be; if not forever, then only today.


End file.
